Page 3 of Crashing the Altar
God, what I wouldn’t give to havehimrolling over me. Hell, I’d take him below me, behind me—any way, really.
Swaying on my feet, I looped both arms around his neck. “That’s better,” I sighed.
Tripp kept both hands firmly planted on my waist. “How ’bout we dance right here?”
I pressed my cheek to his chest. “Mmm. I could be okay with that.”
Rocking slowly, even though the tempo of the song was upbeat, I clung to the man who didn’t know I loved him with my whole heart. Emboldened in my intoxicated state, I snaked one hand down his back, tucking it into his back pocket. It was a claiming move, and through fuzzy hearing, it almost sounded like his heart began beating faster beneath my ear.
“We should probably get you home.” Tripp’s lips moved against the top of my head.
“Party pooper,” I groused.
“I gave you your dance, birthday girl. As it is, your father’s gonna kill me for letting you drink too much. He trusted me to take care of you tonight.”
Lifting my gaze to peek at him, I batted my eyelashes, a move that was proven to get me whatever I wanted. “Can I sleep in your bed tonight?”
Tripp’s brows drew down. “In the bunkhouse?”
“Nuh-uh.” I shook my head slowly. “In your bedroom in the big house.” That was the main farmhouse on Sullivan Ranch, where his parents lived.
His sigh was heavy. “Penny . . .”
“Please? It’s my last birthday request. Promise.”
Groaning, he nodded. “All right.”
I squealed, hopping in place.
We hadn’t had a sleepover since he’d moved into the bunkhouse after graduation. As the owner’s son, he didn’t want anyone to think he was getting preferential treatment, so he elected to live in the communal housing with the rest of the ranch hands.
My booze-soaked brain was already conjuring up ways I could use this adult version of our childhood ritual to my advantage. Maybe instead of falling asleep face-to-face, we could spoon. And then perhaps I just so happened to accidentally shift my ass backward to test the reaction when it made contact with his crotch.
With my luck, instead of getting hard, he’d shove me away, being the consummate “good guy” like always, not wanting to take advantage of me in my drunken state.
The last thing I wanted was for my best friend to respect me tonight. No, I wanted him to rip my clothes off and ravage me like this was our last day on Earth.
“Come on, Lucky.” Tripp wrapped an arm around my waist, guiding me toward the door. “Let’s get out of here.”
When we reached his pickup, he opened the passenger side door and lifted me onto the seat, taking the time to buckle me in. He always took such good care of me. There was no doubt he would make the most incredibly attentive husband someday. And God help me, I already hated his future wife.
“Hey.” Tripp’s thumb smoothed between my brows. “Where did my happy drunk go?”
Dammit, I really needed to get better at keeping my emotions in check. Because if I wasn’t careful, the liquor might eventually loosen my tongue enough to spill my deepest secret that would most certainly change our friendship forever.
But what if there’s a chance confessing your true feelings means you get everything you ever wanted?
Squeezing my eyes shut so I didn’t start fucking crying in front of him again, I dropped my head back against the seat, muttering, “I’m fine.”
Tripp’s resulting hum made it clear I wasn’t fooling him, but he let it drop, shutting the door before rounding the hood to hop behind the wheel.
It was only a ten-minute drive from Main Street to Sullivan Ranch, but about halfway there, I lost the ability to keep my thoughts inside my head.
“It’s you.” My voice was whisper-quiet in the dark cabin.
“What’s that?” Tripp spared me a glance before returning his eyes to the road.
Thanks to the liquid courage coursing through my veins, I clarified, “You’re the lucky man.”
